


badly done, Dawn. badly done.

by kwritten



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Emma - Jane Austen, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Austen Prose, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Female-Centric, Femslash, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwritten/pseuds/kwritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometime between the toasts and the first dance, but shortly before the passing of the cake, Dawn turned to her neighbor at the table with all the other bridesmaids in attendance and proclaimed quite cheerfully that this, indeed, was her greatest triumph as a matchmaker. Miss Gilbert raised her eyebrows delicately and reminded the younger girl that no matchmaking had indeed transpired, Dawn was just in possession of a lucky guess. Dawn giggled and pat her old friend on the arm, before looking out at the crowd for her next pet project.</p><p>dawn/elena as emma/knightly; buffy/tara as the westons; alaric as mr woodhouse; spike as harriet; harmony as miss bates; caroline as jane fairfax; jeremy as knightly/frank churchill</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a subject is required if matchmaking is to commence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a wedding is attended, a goal is decided, a friend is made, and a dinner party is held

Dawn Summers was a bright young girl of the age of twenty-one who lived in a grand old house in the countryside with her rather peculiar guardian, Mr. Alaric Saltzman, and – aside from some shuffling about when she was quite an infant – she had never left her little town, nor had any reason to leave it. She was as charming and accomplished as a girl her age, in her position, should be, although there were certain individuals in her life that felt as though she should and could do far more to improve herself in many areas. 

The first of these was her elder sister, Buffy, who often teased the younger girl that there was much in the world to see and so much to learn, if she only were to open her eyes and look around. Buffy’s interests lay in very physical matters, encouraging her sibling to challenge her body with sport and other outside activities. The second individual who took a decided interest in Dawn’s achievements as a person, was her dear neighbor and friend, Elena Gilbert. Miss Gilbert’s family was very closely tied to the Saltzman’s and she was a constant presence in the home from a very young age. Although only three years her senior, Miss Gilbert found this age gap to be one that enabled her to keep constant vigilance on Miss Summers’ character. She was known to leave stacks of books and articles for Dawn in the foyer of the Saltzman home, many of which Dawn found herself incapable of caring for. A fact which was a constant annoyance to Miss Gilbert. 

For many years, Dawn and her sister Buffy had lived in perfect harmony with Mr. Saltzman, caring for him as if he were their own father, and he loving them as his own daughters. In their small family, Miss Gilbert always had a secure place – particularly owing to an intimate attachment between Mr. Saltzman and her aunt in the year before her untimely death. The three orphan girls were quite fond of each other and played a great many games between them in the long halls. Even in adulthood, they were all very fond of each other. 

There was a brother, a Mr. Jeremy Gilbert, who was as much a mystery as Miss Elena was commonplace. Early in life, the young boy had gone to live with an uncle quite a ways off. This uncle claimed so much of the boy’s life that he had never had the occasion to visit his dear sister, though he was a prolific letter writer. Mr. Gilbert held quite a hold on young Dawn’s imagination, she spent many an evening pouring over his letters, imaging all sorts of facts divined from his penmanship and from the small illustrations that littered the margins of his epistles. 

Which is how Miss Gilbert found herself standing beside Dawn in the church upon the occasion of the elder Summers’ marriage to a one Miss Tara Maclay. Everyone agreed that it was a fine match and the whole village participated in the celebration on that auspicious day. Miss Gilbert herself handed Dawn a handkerchief to wipe her eyes when Buffy appeared at the end of the aisle on Mr. Saltzman’s arm, a beautiful sight in white. Although Buffy and Tara had found a quaint little house just a few miles from the Saltzman estate, Mr. Saltzman spent the majority of the time before, during, and even after the wedding, lamenting the move at all. He was not a man fond of change. 

Sometime between the toasts and the first dance, but shortly before the passing of the cake, Dawn turned to her neighbor at the table with all the other bridesmaids in attendance and proclaimed quite cheerfully that this, indeed, was her greatest triumph as a matchmaker. Miss Gilbert raised her eyebrows delicately and reminded the younger girl that no matchmaking had indeed transpired, Dawn was just in possession of a lucky guess. Dawn giggled and pat her old friend on the arm, before looking out at the crowd for her next pet project. 

“I think that Matt Donovan looks particularly lonely tonight, don’t you?”

“No,” Elena picked up her champagne flute with a distracted air, “I very much do not. Mr. Donovan is an established man, he has no need for your particular brand of services.”

Dawn dismissed her with a wave of her hand, her mind already whirling with the possibilities of a perfect match. 

Indeed, in just a month’s time after the wedding, young Dawn was walking about town when she bumped into a young man by the name of William Blood. He was the sort of man to lurk about in dark alleys with a cigarette in one hand and a scowl on his face. He also insisted that everyone in his acquaintance call him ‘Spike’ which was either a very bad joke or a very unorthodox promise. Why our young heroine decided to take this miscreant under her wing is anyone’s best guess. Why the young man in question allowed her to do so is a question this narrator will leave up to the reader to answer. 

At a rather interesting dinner party hosted at the Saltzman house, Dawn gathered together her sister and wife, Miss Harmony Kendall, Miss Elena Gilbert, Mr. Matt Donovan, and Spike. As Miss Kendall prattled on about the latest letter from her accomplished cousin, Miss Caroline Forbes, an individual whose existence caused Dawn daily frustration despite her presence being as absent from their town as Mr. Jeremy Gilbert, our hostess noted with great satisfaction that Mr. Donovan and her special guest, young Spike, were chatting rather amiably. She raised her eyebrows to Miss Elena over dessert, who rolled her eyes in answer, going back to her conversation with Mr. Saltzman about a particular historical tomb they had received that morning. 

All in all, Dawn felt as though her dinner party was a great success. A fact that she mentioned to Miss Elena later in the week as they took their tea in the drawing room, Mr. Saltzman in the corner grumbling over a stack of research, a pen in his mouth, and ink stains on his shirt. Miss Elena sits in her customary chair, a high-backed armchair upholstered in red velvet, close enough to Mr. Saltzman’s desk, but also in reach of the rest of the room so that Dawn can move about freely and still talk to her. Over the years, Miss Elena has mastered the art of maintaining two conversations at once, appeasing Mr. Saltzman and his ward with equal measure. Dawn notices this in the way that she notices most things in her life, with a dismissive and cavalier attitude. 

“Why just this afternoon Mr. Donovan took the portrait I made of Spike to town in hopes of finding a proper frame. I have never seen anyone so devoted to a man as he is to my dear Spike,” Dawn said cheerfully from her perch on a chair opposite Miss Elena, a small table pulled up close to her that she might put together a puzzle depicting a Roman fresco, an especial gift from Miss Elena herself that very day. 

Miss Elena’s lips quirked amusedly, “And you are confident that both men share an attachment to each other, dear Dawn?”

“Of course Miss Gilbert,” Dawn answered pertly, feeling rather discontent that her friend would show so little faith in her matchmaking abilities. “Why just this afternoon Mr. Donovan expressed so much pleasure at the sight of Spike’s profile, who blushed quite gentlemanly at the compliment.” She glared down at the puzzle piece in her hand, before dismissing it for an edge piece. She did not believe in uphill battles, it was far less messy to know where your boundaries were before one began a project. 

“Elena, solve this ridiculous riddle for me, there’s a good chap,” Mr. Saltzman said from his corner, throwing a pile of papers into the air in frustration. Miss Gilbert obligingly set to the task of helping the older gentleman, sending Dawn little bits of humor as she did so. The young lady was of course welcome to dinner, as she was most evenings, and Dawn ensured that the kitchen knew to serve crème brûlée for dessert, seeing as that it was Miss Gilbert’s favorite. Dawn did such kindnesses for her friends, remembering their favorites and always ensuring that she had them on hand. The kitchen could tell you that crème brûlée was the most commonly eaten dessert at the Saltzman home. 

But then, people rarely ask the kitchen staff for their opinion or insight on very many things of import. A great deal of heartache and misfortune could be avoided if more attention was paid to the goings on in the kitchen of great houses. 

Dawn continued much in the way she always had, taking long walks into the village with her basket, engaging in such ladylike pursuits as drawing, needlework, and charitable work, and attending to her sister as often as possible. In the weeks since first stumbling into Spike on her errands, he became a solid fixture at her side. Many villagers became accustomed to seeing his fair head bobbing along down the streets next to her dark one, his dark clothes a perfect complement to her colorful array and style. They were quite a match and Dawn began to feel as though she was raising Spike up to a much higher state of life with her influence. Why any day he would drop the ridiculous penname and insist on being called William again. Although she did not like to dissuade him from his poetical pursuits, despite his insistence that they be kept private even from her inquiring mind, as it was her estimable opinion that all young men of his ilk should have an occupation of some kind. It wouldn’t do for a man to be always underfoot, looking for something to do, much better for him to have a pursuit of his own. Indeed, she was so very proud of her friend’s authorship that she began to dream of his one day having a book of poetry on every bookshelf in the country. That her friend did not share this fantasy with her mattered very little. Dawn often knew what was better for those that she loved than they did themselves. 

Among her many daily errands, Dawn would often stop in and visit Miss Harmony Kendall in her little apartment at the center of the village. Miss Kendall was a beautiful, though rather silly, woman of distinguished age – long past marriageable in many opinions – and dwindling means. Though once from a family of considerable wealth and status, over the years the Kendalls had fallen on hard times, and Miss Kendall clung, rather pathetically in Dawn’s opinion, to her old status. It would not do to not invite Miss Kendall to dinner parties and the like, as it would be a veritable snub of catastrophic proportions. Dawn had gone to visit Miss Kendall weekly since she was a young girl, often with a basket full of fruit or vegetables from the Saltzman grounds on one arm. Of course, she began to bring her devoted friend Spike along with her on these special visits. Despite her deep and sincere love for Miss Kendall, Dawn often felt short-tempered and bored in the face of Miss Kendall’s constant prattle, for the dear woman loved to talk about the most mundane and insufferably boring topics. 

Of all the topics that Dawn dreaded most upon a visit to Miss Kendall’s apartment, a letter from Miss Caroline Forbes was at the very top of a very short list. Miss Forbes was Miss Kendall’s dear cousin, the offspring of an aunt long since expired, who lived as a companion to a young woman of means, a Miss Cordelia Chase. Miss Forbes sent a letter every Tuesday of every week, her exploits and accomplishments of the previous week then filling every minute of Miss Kendall’s prattle until the following week. Miss Forbes was accomplished, graceful, intelligent, gentle, kind, and by all accounts, perfectly perfect in every way. Dawn had only had the occasion to meet the young Miss Forbes a few short times when they were still small children, but the constant praise visited upon her by Miss Kendall and the rest of the village, made her feel very much like a competitor to Dawn’s secure position in the community. 

Spike, being a very observant and rather mischievous sort of creature, noted immediately Dawn’s discomfort at the topic of Miss Forbes’ accomplishments, began to seek out as much information about the girl as he possibly could. Consequently, in short time he became a great favorite of Miss Kendall’s, who loved anyone who loved her darling cousin Miss Forbes. Dawn began to feel very much as though she was in danger of losing her beloved friend should Miss Forbes ever decide to take up residence in the village again. She comforted herself with the fact that despite all of Miss Forbes’ estimable qualities, she did not have the good fortune to secure Spike with a healthy and attractive match and therefore could never _quite_ surpass Dawn’s influence on her friend’s life. 

One night shortly before Christmas, an event anticipated with great pleasure by all of our characters, Dawn rather visibly sulked upon hearing Miss Forbes’ name mentioned by her dear friend to Mr. Donovan. Her momentary pleasure in seeing the two men, such a charming looking pair they made in the low light from the setting sun coming through the window of the dining room, was cut short at their joint interest in a subject matter that gave her such consternation. At her momentary droop in mood, Miss Gilbert tugged at a lock of her hair in the way of an old childhood playmate and whispered a joke to her about the books she had left in the foyer earlier that week. It had so very long ago been established that Dawn had no interest in Mr. Saltzman’s particular area of research, that Miss Gilbert’s constant admonitions that Dawn do her best to read more and gain enough insight to help her guardian in his pursuits had become a bit of a joke between them. Dawn often teased, much to Mr. Saltzman’s consternation – as the agreeable gentleman could find no fault whatsoever in his beloved ward – that according to many people, she was a frightfully silly thing with far too many faults to her name. This was as much a joke between Dawn and her childhood friend as it was a truth that Miss Gilbert believed. After Miss Gilbert’s scolding, Dawn’s spirits were quite lifted and she was able to turn the conversation at the table to far more joyful things, primarily the upcoming Christmas party to be held at the home of her sister and her new wife. 

Everyone at the table was particularly pleased with this topic of conversation and many jests and plans were wrought out over dessert, crème brûlée. Dawn watched Miss Gilbert crack the top of her sugary dessert with a smile, and leaned over to apologize for being such a flighty and silly thing, to care so much for social engagements and public opinion over scholarly pursuits. Miss Gilbert nodded in her silent way and that was that. 

Dawn was quite pleased to witness Mr. Donovan’s great pleasure in hearing that Spike would be attending the party along with the rest. Yes, she thought to herself as she waved goodbye to the party as they went home again before turning back to the fireplace where her guardian and Miss Gilbert waited, they made a very charming pair.


	2. what is public and what is private

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some background on the orphans is discussed, a party is attended, a proposal is wrought, and an apology is sought

Mr. Alaric Saltzman was – in his youth – a man of great intellect, but little fortune, and it was to his greatest surprise when, at the age of eight and twenty, a distant relation gave him claim over such an impressive spot of land in the countryside. Leaving behind his seat as an instructor at a mildly impressive institution, and carrying with him only his collection of books, he came into the small town he now called home and immediately shut himself away. There were rumors, mild and not at all consequential to this tale, that said he suffered from a broken heart. At the age of two and thirty a parcel in the shape of two small girls arrived at his doorstep. Presumably they were to be left in the hands of the same gentleman from whom Mr. Saltzman inherited his fortune. In just a few short years, the young man went from being a penniless professor to a gentleman and father. Although many villages felt as though he would not be up to the task, he proved himself in short order to be quite the family man, if a bit unorthodox in his ways. 

It was probably not until after the untimely death of Miss Jenna Sommers, the maternal aunt and temporary guardian of Miss Elena Gilbert, just after their engagement was officially announced, that the village really began to feel deep affection for Mr. Saltzman. Small communities such as that found in this small village are shameful in their distrust of strangers and newcomers, and yet so delightfully heartwarming in their reaction to tragedy. It seemed almost as though the deposit of two orphan girls on his doorstep was seen by the village as a boon and it was not until he stood in the local cemetery, one arm around Miss Elena’s narrow shoulders and one hand held by Miss Buffy, and cried with them, that the small townsfolk really began to feel as though he was part of their tribe. And like with most small towns, once you are part of the tribe, you are never lost to it. The girls in his care, of course, were welcomed with open arms by one and all the moment of their arrival, being mere infants and not responsible for the fact that their tragedy was enacted away from public view. 

Tragedy is, as it has always been, a public event. As are weddings and births, everyone likes the intrigue of a good wedding. As a rule, however, the private goings on of great houses are of no more interest than that of the smallest cottage overrun with children of varying ages and temperament. This truth of the mundane is most likely the root cause that the daily lives of the very wealthy become so very much a matter of supreme secrecy. Were it ever admitted that in between grand parties and extravagant balls, young women of every walk of life daydream the same silly dreams while mending stockings, why it would almost be as if chaos had fallen. A fact that allowed Mr. Alaric Saltzman quite a bit of freedom in the raising of his two young wards; had he been a poor but well-meaning farmer, likely more interference from his neighborhood peers would have been presented over the years. We can speculate that the late Miss Jenna Sommers did her best to lend her wisdom as much as she could, and there is a memory of a young governess by the name of Miss Winnifred Burkle that undoubtedly had a small but necessary hand in the raising of the girls in the limited time that she occupied the house. 

Indeed, although Dawn and her elder sister never did seem to catch the enthusiasm from their guardian and neighbor for local history, nevertheless they did maintain their own passions. Miss Buffy, in particular, had a wide social influence, a penchant for physical sport – mastering anything suitable for a lady (and much else besides), and a dear love of playing silly pranks on her loved ones. While Miss Buffy was out in the garden, damaging the rose bushes with her golf clubs, wreaking havoc on the gardening staff with her archery practice, and running the horses through areas she shouldn’t, the younger Miss Summers was in the library studying. Among the few possessions that were left to the two girls from their previous guardian, a Mr. Rupert Giles, there was a mysterious book of dubious origin on the occult. The elder Miss Summers dismissed this article of their former life without a second glance, the man had only been their guardian for a few short months before their journey to Mr. Saltzman’s home. Miss Dawn, on the other hand, felt a deep and personal kinship with this mysterious artefact and worked many long and hard hours attempting to decipher the many mysteries within it. Despite Miss Gilbert’s best efforts, and a series of short conversations with her guardian, Dawn was determined to untangle every scrap in the strange book. 

This venture, though deemed by her guardian, sister, governess, and – most especially – Miss Gilbert, to be a cause not worthy of her time, was her chief employment during the long hours in which a girl must find herself occupied. Of course, both Summers sisters could – with a modicum of talent – produce ladylike crafts such as needlework and water coloring, as well as entertain guests at the piano. Early in their lives, Mr. Saltzman refused anyone beside Dawn the right to darn his socks. Miss Buffy was, after all, the better singer of the two, but Dawn excelled in the art of dancing. And, according to Mr. Saltzman, though Miss Buffy had the better hand, it was Dawn who he trusted to compose his personal notes and invitations for social engagements, as she had a far more superior turn of phrase when she put pen to paper. Yet, in her quiet and private hours, Dawn taught herself many exotic and dead languages, bent over her volume, and writing translations and epistles alike. She had, in her short life, filled many small diaries with her work, research, and little stories (that she would call theories but were in fact mere fanciful tales) concerning the origins of the book in her possession. 

Of course, scholarship of this nature was not at all ladylike and was her chief and most closely guarded secret. Perhaps no one in her small village would have looked askance at her hobby, the occult – especially the communion with ghosts and specters – was a pursuit very much in fashion, and though she undertook it with a seriousness and veracity that her friends would not have understood, Dawn was not the sort of creature that anyone would ever shame for a secret dalliance of such an innocent nature; aside from the resolutely practical Miss Gilbert, who had become an apprentice and research partner of sorts to Mr. Saltzman from an early age. The books and papers she left in the foyer for the younger Miss Summers were as much a call to engage in a suitable topic as they were a silent jab at the girl’s preferred mode of scholarship. That Dawn created her own secret language at the ripe old age of ten and only taught it to her sister and guardian in order to tease Miss Gilbert only exasperated her brimming hostility. 

Over the years Mr. Saltzman’s opinion of the project had grown from a mild reluctance to a silent but steady approval, as Dawn’s skill in languages developed to the point of almost envy. He had also, rightly or wrongly, spied upon the little books full of her handwriting several times over the years and the girlish, yet knowledgeable, words that he found there eased his mind. The rivalry between Miss Gilbert and Dawn over proper scholarship seemed, in Mr. Saltzman’s mind at the very least, to be only a silly game between the two of them and as such, he did little to discourage or encourage either side, even if – for his own interests – Dawn’s resolute work ethic and passion for her subject were enviable properties any scholar would hope to have in their corner. As it was, Mr. Saltzman was in pursuit of a rare volume of tales said to have originated in their small corner of the country, but only available in a language he had never learned, and planned on gifting it to Dawn at the earliest opportunity. Only a foolish man ignored a talent blossoming under his own roof and did nothing to profit from it. 

It was for this reason that upon the day of the Christmas party to be hosted at the Summers-Maclay household, Dawn had only a few moments to consider the implications of the limerick penned by Spike and delivered to her door by a young boy from the village, and the actual catastrophe that was his sudden onslaught of the flu was only truly felt by the young lady as she dashed out the door on the arm of her guardian, Miss Gilbert holding the door open for them as she often did, eager to escort them to the festivities. 

“Oh dear, Mr. Donovan will be so greatly disappointed,” Dawn said as Miss Gilbert assisted her into the conveyance. 

“Why is that, dear Dawn?” Miss Gilbert intoned quietly, her eye apparently on the time and the quickly falling snow. The change in weather had not been noted by either Dawn or her guardian, absorbed as they both were in their private studies. 

“Why his absolute distraction at the absence of poor Spike, who has contracted a nasty sore throat and cannot join us this evening,” Dawn said brightly. “I am sure Mr. Donovan will be most distraught over the news.”

Miss Gilbert bowed her head in what the young Miss Summers took as an acknowledgment of the truth she spoke, before shutting the door and going for her horse. It was rather silly, in Dawn’s mind, for Miss Gilbert to choose to ride so exposed on such a cold evening, but it was very much in keeping with the older girl’s humor and so she returned her thoughts to the festivities. 

She found Mr. Donovan within moments of her arrival, and broke the news regarding Spike’s ailments as gently as she could, and was quite surprised at the brave face the Mr. Donovan put on for the rest of the evening. It even seemed to Dawn as though he was more attentive to her than on any other occasion, an obvious sign that he was missing poor Spike. And though his constant buzzing was a bit of an annoyance, and she missed Miss Gilbert telling of the latest news from the mysterious Mr. Gilbert, she was quite patient with the dear man, for surely his nervousness bespoke a wounded heart from being separated from his dearest love on such an auspicious night. Dawn prided herself on her attentiveness to her friends and did her best to be as kindly and gentle with the gentleman as she could find it in herself to be. And when the young man insisted on shepherding her home when it became clear that Mr. Saltzman’s conversation with the young Mrs. Tara Summers-Maclay was in no sign of ending quickly, despite the late hour and the house being resolutely empty of guests, Miss Kendall already escorted home by the aid of Miss Gilbert herself, and all other guests long since retired to the safety of their homes. After ensuring that her guardian would be safe and sound in the home of her sister, Dawn cheerfully began her journey home. She was looking out the window, her thoughts having already returned to the passage she had translated earlier that day in her great book, when something extraordinary happened, Mr. Donovan threw himself into the seat beside her, took her hands in hers, and proclaimed love to her!

“Mr. Donovan, I appreciate your desire to practice your demonstrations of love so that you might not be nervous upon the occasion when you are free to declare them to the true object of your affection, but please do release me, this sort of play-acting is not something that I enjoy.”

Mr. Donovan looked at her for a long moment, releasing her hands slowly, before asking, “Whatever are you talking about Miss Dawn?”

Dawn smiled at him kindly, “I know the object of your affections and am quite happy for the match, but perhaps it were better that you speak so gently to him and not to me.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Dawn, but I believe there has been some confusion. I most assuredly do mean for _you_ to be the audience to this declaration and no one else, have you not guessed at my feelings for you?”

Dawn switched seats and giggled, “Oh you are so silly, Mr. Donovan. Why anyone with eyes can see you are quite taken with my darling friend, Mr. William Blood.”

“Spike!? Are you mad Miss Summers?”

Dawn flicked at a piece of lint on her skirt, “I assure I am quite sane. And your actions of late have suggested – no! Have resolutely lead to the conclusion that you are very much in love with Spike.”

Mr. Donovan gaped at her for a long moment before swallowing and turning his head to the window. Dawn followed suit and caught her breath, the whole event had been remarkably uncomfortable. In a few minutes, Mr. Donovan’s voice came through the stillness low and solemn, “I very sure that there is no possible way for you to have mistaken my affection for you and displaced it upon your young friend. Surely you are teasing me in some cruel, distasteful way.” He grabbed her hands again, “But I would forgive you of such a jest if you would only release me from this torment and agree to marry me!”

Dawn was very much at a loss, this was not the way she had anticipated her first proposal to go – god forbid anyone proposed to her ever as she was stanchly opposed to the idea of ever marrying herself. “Sir,” she said firmly, shaking off his hands. “You must explain yourself at once. The painting! The letter! All directed towards my dear friend. My interest in you over the past months has only been in kindness and affection for your pursuit of _him_.”

“The letter was directed to you!”

“And the painting of Spike in the garden that you were so interested in?”

“The painting that you created!” Mr. Donovan looked down at his hands, “I’m … you are mistaken I am not… _that_ sort of man.”

Dawn gasped “Mr. Donovan, do you mean to say that you… prefer the company of women?!” The idea was almost laughable in her mind, a conclusion that she had never considered before in her short life. Mr. Donovan, chasing skirts, the very idea was absurd. 

“That is _precisely_ what I mean,” Mr. Donovan ground out rather harshly, bringing a sharp spot of red to Dawn’s cheeks. 

“Oh dear…” she fumbled about for something to say, anything, to excuse how wrong – how terribly, terribly mistaken she had been in her assessment of his character. 

“Oh _dear_ indeed, Miss Summers!” Mr. Donovan picked up his hat and pounded on the roof, opening the door of the conveyance with a sharp snap. 

“Well,” Dawn said to herself solemnly, leaning up against the door of her own dear home, “ _that_ was a veritable disaster.”

After the New Year, Dawn had the very unfortunate task of breaking the news to her darling Spike that his hopes of a good match with Mr. Donovan were quite dashed. She was very proud of him for being such a good sport about the whole affair, smiling up at her and saying with a wink, “Always other boys, pet,” and she supposed if that was your inclination, his statement was rather true. Dawn clung to the beautiful love poetry Spike had composed in the months of Mr. Donovan’s courtship of him, crying over it with a heavy heart. 

“It is just so like a man of his caliber to not burden his friends with his broken heart,” she said over dinner one night to her guardian and Miss Gilbert. “Why just today, he wrote the most tragic poem about a butterfly’s death that was the very pinnacle of romantic misery, I cried at his recitation of it and again when I read it after he had left. I fear that though his art has strengthened, this whole ordeal has very much weakened his already fragile sensibilities.”

Mr. Saltzman looked up from his newspaper and smiled across the table at Miss Gilbert when Dawn turned her head to wipe her eyes very prettily with her handkerchief, “Your matchmaking skills seem to be more of the tradition of an ancient Muse than a town crier. You don’t anticipate the next wedding so much as a new creation. What great art will you inspire next?”

“Don’t tease me so, sir.”

Miss Gilbert did not hide her displeasure at the turn of conversation that night – or indeed, the past several weeks – and set down her glass with a loud _clink_. “Don’t encourage her Alaric,” she said harshly. “It was a silly and thoughtless thing Dawn did, playing a game with other people’s lives this way.”

Mr. Saltzman very wisely took this moment to signal for dessert to be brought out, a walnut pie, Miss Gilbert’s second favorite treat, and the interruption put any further lectures from the family friend on hold for the time being. Luckily, there had been another fire in the North of the country, a march in the East, and a wedding in town, and so conversation flowed much more smoothly. As they settled into the sitting room, Miss Gilbert settling into her red chair with the air of someone very much at home, Dawn proclaimed that she was washing her hands of the whole matchmaking business, never again would she take matters of the heart into her own hands. Upon a gentle inquiry from her guardian as to what she would do with all of this now freed time, she very solemnly declared that she would take up such pursuits as those around her had constantly encouraged her to seek out in order to better herself. Mr. Saltzman believed the matter to be at rest, and his life in no more danger of the kind of disruptions that weddings and the like are bound to create, and went back to his brandy in better humor than he had felt in several months. Miss Gilbert said nothing at all, a fact that was largely remarked on by Dawn and not at all noticed by Mr. Saltzman. 

While seeing Miss Gilbert to the door, Dawn very gravely apologized for her behavior, seeking forgiveness from this, her oldest and dearest acquaintance. “I cannot believe that I have been so foolish and so blind. What a silly, ridiculous creature you must think me to be,” she looked down at her hands in embarrassment. 

Miss Gilbert tugged on Dawn’s improperly loose hair falling in long waves down to her waist, a style that she indulged in only when amongst family, as she often did when they were children, causing the younger girl to smile and look up at her. The sight of her open face caught Miss Gilbert very off-guard and whatever she had intended to say was lost on her tongue. “You are very silly sometimes, dear Dawn,” she said instead. “But you have a good heart, and your friends will forgive you your small failings.”

“Will they?” Dawn asked, brow furrowed in concern. “What is the use of being twenty-one years old and feeling as though I know nothing at all?”

Miss Gilbert rubbed the strand of hair she still held between her fingers thoughtfully, “I think it shall be a lesson that you will have to learn in your own way.”

Dawn sighed restlessly, “Can’t you just teach me what I must know, as you did when we were children, just Elena and Dawn playing silly games of your creation in the garden?”

Miss Gilbert stiffened, dropped her hand back to her side as if burned, “No, I’m afraid we have lost those days forever.”

Dawn laughed merrily, unaware of the change in her friend’s demeanor, “All’s well anyhow I suppose. I do not envy childhood me and the perverse amount of porridge Alaric felt was necessary to a child’s mental security.”

The two laughed a little while longer over memories long shared but now rarely spoken of for a few minutes longer until Miss Gilbert began her short journey home. Dawn tucked herself into bed and cried no more about the poor heart of her dear friend, broken as she supposed, and slept deeply, now convinced that they could once again return to the lazy pace of their lives with no further interruptions. Little did Miss Summers know that on their way to her sleepy town that very night were two letters that would prove full of distractions enough to make her forget she had ever longed for silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since this "Harriet" is not previously pursued/engaged to a poor farmer, there was no real reason for Dawn and Elena to have a serious fight in the first chapter, and the pacing of this chapter didn't really allow for one, either? I'm hoping to get some more hostility working up between them in chapter three, but they aren't really cooperating? Elena is being too nice! Anyway, let me know how you feel about Elena as Knightly in general b/c she's being the most cumbersome. and in the next chapter we get THREE new characters! ack!!


	3. one soul cannot occupy two bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All childhood friends must grow apart, for that is the very nature of maturity, one soul cannot live on in two bodies, but must walk alone and hope for understanding and compassion. All childhood friends must grow apart in their own way, it is seen as natural and useful and not at all tragic; yet it is difficult, in this case, to not still feel a sense of loss, even as these have remained so close, for there is a seemingly impenetrable wall between two such like-minded people.

In their childhood days, before the heartrending loss of Miss Gilbert’s aunt, the three orphan girls made each other into the most delightful playmates, always at each other’s beck and call, always willing for a prank or an imaginary game to share. There were no three girls in the world who loved each other more, every childhood loss, every little victory, was shared between them as a matter of course. They had a sense of ownership over each other that all young children have over their dearest companions at that age. But, of course, time and circumstance change all things, and in due course the trio began to shape itself into separate creatures. Miss Jenna Sommers was known to remark, in the early days of their youth, that they seemed to be less three little girls than one mass of lace and long hair darting to and fro from house to house. Girls, like most things, do at some mysterious point in time, grow and change, and in those moments, these three became very different individuals, no longer content to travel with two shadows on their backs. Of course, once one pulls away, all of the differences that before had gone unnoticed between them become apparent, and the illusion being broken causes not too few scars. 

Buffy, in turning more solidly into physical pursuits, chasing after new challenges with an enthusiasm that would have bordered on reckless had she not had such an easy, pragmatic air about her. This twist in personality was, by far, the least painful for the other two to accept, as it was something so deeply ingrained into her personality from a young age. Less than a twist, her new passions seemed to observers as more of a natural coming-of-age. Her two companions did not begrudge her these new pursuits, but rather were her most loyal champions. It was, as it should be expected, rather the shift in Dawn and Elena as they grew, that caused the most pain; that though hidden away, deeply affected their growth into adulthood in ways that their guardians could not protect. 

The reader has already become familiar with Miss Dawn’s mysterious book of the occult, the hobby to which she throws her greatest efforts, but though this artefact had long been her personal mystery, the young girl had – in her early years – kept the book secreted away from even Miss Elena Gilbert. In a time when everything was shared and her very personality seemed to be the property of her companions, in this one thing she kept herself separate and secret. These sorts of family skeletons cannot be kept hidden long, and one day during a game of hide-and-seek in the Saltzman home, Elena stumbled upon the dirty old thing. Unknowingly, she brought it out, like a pirate with a rarely discovered treasure, hoping in childlike innocence to have found a new game that they could all share together. Seeing her beloved book so mistreated, Dawn reacted as only a young child could, with tears and a harsh prank that went too far in distancing her from the person she loved most. After snatching it away, Dawn – at the age of ten you will remember – created a language that only Elena could not catch the meaning of; and so began a long history of hostility on Elena’s part towards the object in question. Ever after, she treated the whole experiment with disdain and prejudice, though in her secret childhood heart Elena longed for nothing more than to pour over those pages, head close to her friend’s, divining the secrets of the ages and concocting fantastical stories and myths out of the scraps of information that was held within. Before that ill-fated day, Elena had been their best storyteller, to her they went for the lines to a play, for a new game, for the ending to a story they could not manage, for the hero to all their play-acting. 

As with most stories of this nature, there is a terrible twist of fate that cannot be altered, despite this author’s best wishes that none of this had come about; for on this very day of hide-and-seek, Elena had brought with her to their games an object which she held most dear to her own young heart. While Dawn was left a book of mysterious languages and stories of ghosts and ghouls, Elena had in her possession the youthful journal of her own mother, dead so many years before. While Dawn had her shelves of books holding her scrawl unscrambling ancient obscurities, Elena had begun the practice of writing in her child’s hand the story of her life, and of the lives of those around her. She fancied herself a great recorder of human truths and human triumphs; and she longed for nothing more than to share this project with her dearest friend. 

All childhood friends must grow apart, for that is the very nature of maturity, one soul cannot live on in two bodies, but must walk alone and hope for understanding and compassion. Buffy went out into the gardens and pushed her body to its limits with a bright smile on her face. Dawn lost herself in the daily tasks of a woman of fortune, keeping her book and many papers a secret hobby. Elena took upon herself, at an age that many argued was far too young, the direct management of her estate – the grounds, house, and tenants her chief priority – while every night secretly dictating the beautiful and whimsical world she still clung to in her deepest heart. All childhood friends must grow apart in their own way, it is seen as natural and useful and not at all tragic; yet it is difficult, in this case, to not still feel a sense of loss, even as these have remained so close, for there is a seemingly impenetrable wall between two such like-minded people. 

“Married?” Dawn put down her spoon carefully in her saucer and looked across the breakfast table at her guardian with what she hoped was not too unguarded expression. “Mr. Donovan is married? Why he only left town a month ago.”

Spike, on her left, dipped his spoon into a jar and pulled out a healthy portion of blackberry preserves, slathering it on his muffin as though the conversation at hand was of no interest to him whatsoever. Dawn’s heart yearned for her dear friend and she wished very much that her guardian would have picked a more suitable time to share the contents of his letter. 

“He’s asked me to send Patrick over to the house and prepare a few things for his return,” Mr. Saltzman said with a dismissive air. “And he will be Mr. Donovan-Harris upon his return.”

Something twisted, sharp and unyielding, in Dawn’s chest, “Excuse me?”

“Found himself a nice boy to bring home?” Spike said, his mouth full of biscuit and jam. Dawn took a sip of her tea to steady her nerves. 

Mr. Saltzman squinted at the letter, “A Miss Anyanka Jenkins and a Mr. Alexander Harris.” He put down the letter and gestured to Dawn with his teacup, “One of those triad marriages that are so in vogue in the city. I wish him well with it.”

“I suppose we shall have to have them for tea, greet them to the neighborhood,” Dawn was very glad that she did not spill a single drop of tea as she refilled her guardian’s cup. “I think just a small chat to start, don’t you Alaric?”

But his mind was already on other business, leaning across the table to get Spike’s opinion on some political something or other. Dawn sat back in her chair, slumping a bit in her distraction, wondering in vain at the ridiculousness of the male species. Elena found her like that, a frown on her face and a biscuit in her hand, when she tromped through in her riding habit – stolen from Alaric’s closet long ago, breeches covering her legs in a most indelicate manner – and couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. 

“What’s wrong, Dawn dear? Are they ignoring you again?” Elena tsked to herself as she pulled out a chair and sat down, helping herself to a cup of tea. “Shameful behavior from two such gentlemen.”

Dawn looked up at her then, blinking rapidly, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Elena smiled tightly, her playful manner evaporating into air like a damp fog under the summer’s sun, “Did you hear the news? Our Mr. Donovan has gone and found himself a husband _and_ a wife! The village will never recover from the novelty of it.”

“Not unless you undertake the same task,” Spike pointed out cheerfully. 

Dawn wished, then and there, that she could disappear under her chair. “Oh Miss Gilbert will never marry,” she said in a biting tone as she stood up, quite tired of the act of breakfast, “she’s far too particular for anyone to ever be suitable for her. An angel could descend from on high and our friend here would find fault with them.” She swept out of the room, leaving behind a rather ashen-faced Miss Gilbert and two rather amused gentlemen. 

When she was quite out of earshot, Spike leaned over the table and pat Miss Gilbert’s hand, “There, there Elena.” Mr. Saltzman was overcome with a bout of giggles and could offer no comfort to his young friend and was very glad that Spike was there to do the honors. 

Meanwhile, in another corner of the house, Dawn prepared a basket of vegetables from the garden to be taken to Miss Kendall and tried not to be too snappish with the cook. After an invigorating walk through the countryside, without Spike at her side as she decided to go alone, she felt ready enough to endure an hour of Miss Kendall’s chatter about the perfect and graceful Miss Forbes, and was just about to feel guilty for leaving her friend behind, to be entertained and harassed by Mr. Saltzman using god knew what means, when she is startled by a stranger on horseback jumping over the fence bordering the road mere inches from her face. Dawn would have believed that the whole incident, a blur of black horseflesh and blue and white fabric, had been only a figment of her imagination, had the visage not turned back around and trotted up to her within moments of nearly trampling her to death. 

“I’m so sorry,” a laughing girl in a charming blue riding habit and bright blonde hair said from atop a rather large horse. “You caught me by surprise! I did not think that anyone would walk these paths alone.”

Dawn laughed back, “I often walk alone, but rarely observe my surroundings as it is so unusual to come upon on another soul at this hour.”

The girl swept off her hat and bowed in a silly, mock-salute, “Do keep a better eye out.”

Dawn grinned, “I shall.” The woman turned her horse around, and Dawn darted forward. “But!” she called out, “what is the name of the young lady that nearly trampled me on my morning walk? A stranger here is no ordinary occurrence.”

“They call me Caroline Forbes, if you must know,” the girl trotted back around, making a circle around the area where Dawn stood. 

“Why! Of course, I know that name as well as my own, have heard it spoken many times,” Dawn felt betrayed, and rather glad of it, that Miss Kendall’s prattle of a perfect, poised person had merely preceded a more wild and playful truth. 

“Then you must be Miss Dawn Summers,” the girl exclaimed. “I am so very glad to have met you this way, in the open air, and not in the stuffy apartment of my aunt.”

“Why I am just on my way there now,” Dawn said cheerfully. “Though you will of course best me in a foot race armed as you are.”

Miss Forbes furrowed her brow, a very pretty sight in Dawn’s estimation, “Oh do not speak of me at home. They are not expecting me until tomorrow. It is so much more pleasant to sneak up on relations before they begin to keep an eye out.”

Dawn was very fond of keeping secrets, and this one pleased her in a way she could not fully express to herself, it felt daring and exciting, “Your secret is safe with me, Miss Forbes.”

“Oh, Caroline _please_!” and with that last word, she was gone, across the field in the direction of the Summers-Maclay property. 

Dawn continued on her way to the village, stopping in to visit Miss Kendall for an hour, and bearing her annoying, though well-meaning, excitement over the impending arrival of Miss Forbes with extremely good humor. 

“I have always felt,” she said that night over dinner to her family, “that I would have a closer kinship to Mr. Gilbert, as all reports of him suggest that he is a well-behaved and charming person, without the burdensome quality of being perfect getting in the way, but I must say Caroline surprised me on the road today – which is such a secret and you must keep it to yourselves – as being a truly delightful creature. I am so glad that she is finally among us and a secret no more.”

“Will this end the reign of our beloved Spike as your partial favorite,” Mr. Saltzman asked, with a twinkle in his eye that his youngest ward did not make out across the table. 

“Of course not,” Dawn sniffed. “A person can have more than one friend.” 

The rest of the evening passed in conversation and speculation on the topic of Miss Forbes and the exact meaning of her visit, as her companion Miss Chase was so jealous of her time. The two Mrs. Summers-Maclay took their leave of the house directly after dessert, not staying for a longer chat in the sitting room, which was unusual as they did so dearly love to stay by the fire long into the night, but on that evening both were bursting with questions that only could be voiced away from the house. Immediately upon shutting the door behind them, Mrs. Tara turned to her wife excitedly and demanded to know why Miss Gilbert had _not_ informed Dawn of the presence of her brother in the village, as the young gentleman had arrived very late the preceding night. Buffy trilled with laughter over the shock that would commence when her sister learned that Mr. Gilbert had arrived right under her nose, and on the very same day as Miss Forbes. There bespoke a very serious reason for Miss Gilbert’s silence on the matter, especially as she had brought her brother over to meet the couple just that afternoon. Buffy speculated that Miss Gilbert had attempted to tell Dawn about her brother that day, but had been mislaid by an important event at the estate. Tara argued that surely nothing would get in Miss Gilbert’s way of introducing her brother to Dawn, her dearest friend. And wasn’t it all very odd that it seemed Alaric had mentioned Miss Gilbert’s presence at the breakfast table that very morning? They went to bed with many various presumptions in their mind, but no firm conclusion between the two of them. 

Miss Elena Gilbert, from the time that she was a young girl, had such a charming and winsome disposition that she was able, without very much conscious effort on her part, to exact extreme loyalty and devotion from her friends, acquaintances, and even the occasional stranger. Indeed, upon a trip to the seashore with her young brother as a girl, she had caught the attention of a lovely family who took her under their wing within moments of meeting her. The Michaelsons still send an impressive Christmas gift to her home every year. It is in her very bearing, in her smile, in the way that she carries herself, that impresses upon all who meet her a sense of honor and grace, a feeling that you already know her even if you have yet to be introduced, a sense of deep attachment when there is nothing yet between you. To all who know her, Miss Gilbert is the true embodiment of cheery playfulness and honest intent. 

To all who know her, save one. 

In Dawn’s presence, Miss Gilbert, quite uncharacteristically, transforms into a rather stiff, formal creature, a fact that has been remarked upon by the few friends who truly have the intimacy of favor with the young woman that many only presume. Truly, it could be said that these few friends have made quite a few jokes on the topic at the young woman’s great expense in the past, but as their playful jibes only seemed to increase her discomfort and measured air, it has become over the years an unalterable fact and a joke only outside of her presence. Elena herself, very often comes away from interactions with Miss Dawn as though the younger girl is the only one who sees her true self, the sometimes harsh, biting, exacting personage with the threat of a lecture lingering on her lips the most comfortable skin she wears. At the end of a long and tiresome day, Miss Gilbert is secure in the fact of her red chair in the Saltzman sitting room, from which she can be as pleasant or as belligerent as she chooses without fear of disturbing anyone’s peace of mind. There is, as many women know, a certain burden to being charming and generous that is not easily escapable, even in the presence of a sister or close friend. Perhaps, as the elder Mrs. Buffy Summers-Maclay suspects, this brittleness of behavior is an armor of sorts, put upon in the presence of her sister as a guard; or perhaps both women are correct and the bare flesh of Elena’s personality lay somewhere between the harshly practical taskmaster and the overly kind and playful girl. Mrs. Buffy Summers-Maclay, in a conversation with her bride some short weeks after Christmas, remarked that it would only be upon the appearance of the long-missing Mr. Jeremy Gilbert that any sort of conclusion could be made. 

That Mr. Gilbert had no way of knowing what sort of wild conjectures were made upon his person in the years since he had vacated the village of his birth, nor was the young gentleman aware of the position that his sister had wrought within her personal relationships, is to be expected in cases such as this. We can surmise that had the gentleman in question known the effect his visit was presumed to have, he would have laughed rather cheerily over the idea with his sister and dismissed it out of hand. It is one thing to know that one is a goldfish in a bowl, surrounded by an audience waiting for a trick of some kind, and quite another to be thrust into an arena with no warning. Although his sister’s letters to him over the years had mentioned on many occasion the rumors and theories as to his personality and life’s vocation, Mr. Gilbert had dismissed these as teasing anecdotes from his sister’s own mind. In Mr. Gilbert’s memory, Miss Elena was as much a sister as she was a storyteller, as much a landowner as a prankster, as much a gentlewoman as she was a childish imp. 

Miss Elena Gilbert had such a charming and winsome disposition that she was able to exact extreme loyalty and devotion from everyone she came into contact with; but none more so than her younger brother, Mr. Jeremy Gilbert. Although never the direct presence in each other’s lives that they may have wished, still the siblings kept in close contact all the years of their lives. Their uncle, Mr. John Gilbert, was by all accounts in the village a man of ill-repute, who kept the younger Mr. Gilbert jealously close to him, dragging him all over strange continents without any thought for the young man’s own desires. Miss Elena and Mr. Jeremy never, even amongst themselves, spoke poorly of their uncle, but as he was the one factor that seemed to keep Mr. Jeremy from their sights, the village hardened their hearts against him. Despite the tangle of separation, there was no one in the world who admired Miss Elena more, and no one who knew her better. 

In the morning on his second day home, Mr. Jeremy Gilbert sat at the breakfast table and waited for his sister to return from her morning ride. Despite rising at, in his opinion, at an ungodly hour himself that morning, he had not managed to catch his sister before she galloped off into the rising sun, therefore he had to content himself with rambling about the house aimlessly until a boy took pity on him and found someone to serve breakfast in the garden. It was here that Mrs. Tara Summers-Maclay found him and after a moment’s hesitation, agreed to join him. She had only been walking by on her way to help Mr. Saltzman with a personal matter, and had planned on breaking her fast upon arrival, but curiosity, of course, got the better of her. Which is why, when Miss Elena returned from her morning ride, she found her seat at the table already occupied. 

“They are expecting you up at the house,” Elena said by way of greeting, bending over to kiss her friend on the cheek. “Alaric was complaining that you are always late.”

“I am always early, he has never been good at keeping time,” Tara replied primly, a crooked smile on her face. “How did you find the house otherwise?”

Elena scowled and plopped down on the grass at her brother’s feet in a rather unladylike manner, “A ridiculous state, as per usual these days.”

Tara shot Mr. Gilbert a sly glance, “Was Spike up to his usual antics?”

Mr. Gilbert nearly choked on his bacon and hastily recovered with a swallow of tea that Tara already had waiting for him, “Who in god’s name is Spike?”

“Why he is Miss Summers’ dearest friend,” Tara said helpfully. Mr. Gilbert knew in this moment that a jest was at hand, and he was very grateful that the charming woman had accepted his plea for a breakfast companion. “Quite a charming young man, actually,” she continued, buttering a piece of toast with a nonchalant air, “a poet, you know.”

Elena snorted somewhere below the table, “Spike was not there this morning. He seems to have squirreled himself away before I arrived, something about the _muse_ and the sunlight in the garden.”

“What an interesting sounding fellow,” Mr. Gilbert said with a grin at his companion, reaching down to hand his sister a slice of peach from his own plate. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“If Spike was off writing somewhere, then the breakfast table must have felt quite empty without him,” Tara hedged, now keen with curiosity over Miss Elena’s decidedly belligerent mood. 

“It was quite full to the brim, actually,” Elena said, her hand popping up over the edge of the table, looking for more fruit. “Caroline was there.”

“Oh Miss Forbes! So she and Dawn are becoming fast friends, how delightful,” Tara poured a bit of tea into a cup and handed it across the table to Mr. Gilbert, gesturing with her eyes that it should be delivered by his hand to Elena. “I met Miss Forbes and Miss Kendall walking home from the post office last night, she is really quite charming.” Another snort came from the general direction of Miss Gilbert’s form and Tara winked at Mr. Gilbert. “My wife remarked after the meeting that Miss Forbes would make a very fine confidant for Dawn, she is so lacking in female companionship these days, since Buffy and I set up house.”

“If female companionship is what Dawn feels in neglect of, all she must do is seek it out, it isn’t as if you and Buffy moved to the next county. Miss Forbes is a very silly young woman and I fear Dawn will regret making a deep attachment too soon.”

“Can you really think so of someone you have only just met?” Mr. Gilbert intoned very quietly to his sister, a look of great consternation on his face. 

“Apparently she is going all the way to the city for a haircut tomorrow morning, the vanity of it is shameful,” Elena responded in a harsh tone. “As I left, the two had picked up the fanciful notion of hosting a ball in the village, they were quite thick as thieves.”

Tara pursed her lips, “Perhaps Dawn has met her match at last and will finally concede to marriage? Buffy and I had thought that Spike… but he is not that sort of man. Despite Dawn’s best intentions, I don’t believe Spike is the marrying kind.”

“No indeed,” Elena said, rising to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go see to some business with a tenant. Jeremy, perhaps you could escort Tara over to the house after breakfast? You could meet the infamous Miss Forbes and I won’t have to stomach introducing you to the silly creatures myself.”

“Miss… Caroline Forbes?” Jeremy plucked up a strawberry from his plate as he spoke and handed it to his sister. “Is she by any chance the companion to Miss Cordelia Chase?”

“Why, yes. I do believe that she has lived with the Chase family for years,” Tara said, trying to hide the shock in her voice. “Miss Forbes told us that the young girl had been married to a Mr. Liam Angelus. She seems at a loss for what to do with herself now.”

“Did you meet her while you were abroad with uncle?” Elena asked through a mouthful of strawberry, leaning down to pluck a crust of toast off her brother’s plate. 

“I had occasion to meet her in passing a few months back. Uncle is an old friend of Liam’s from their schooldays.”

“And what did you think of the young lady?” Tara asked eagerly. 

“I…” Mr. Gilbert hesitated a brief moment, gaining him a look of suspicion from his sister. “I only met her in passing you must understand, but she seemed a perfectly respectable sort of person.”

Elena stared down at her brother for a moment and then, after a quick apology and a kiss on Tara’s cheek, was off to fulfill her duties. Tara had the great pleasure of walking with Mr. Gilbert to the Saltzman house, during which she learned all kinds of delightful tidbits about his life traveling about the world with his uncle that she went directly home to share with her jealous wife, and presented him to Miss Dawn Summers. The young man behaved remarkably well in the face of three young ladies, joining in their conversation about a ball with enthusiasm and good humor. Of course, he could not stay long, as it seemed an injustice to keep himself away from his sister for too long. That night at dinner, he lamented in secret to Miss Gilbert that he had not had the opportunity to meet the much spoken of Spike, as the young poet was apparently still at the whim and guidance of the muse when he arrived. The happy event of a meeting between the two young gentleman occurred in the Saltzman dining room just three days later and afterwards Mr. Gilbert seemed so tickled and pleased with Spike very much living up to his reputation, that his sister barred him from her study in short order.


End file.
